Stephen Malkmus

Saint Andrews Hall, Detroit, MI: 10 June

The usual keywords applied: laconic, sly, genial, cryptic, meandering, nimble, sardonic, lanky. No, it wasn't the premiere of the latest Wes Anderson film, but a live set in Detroit from Stephen Malkmus and his Jicks, and they didn't miss a beat. Of course, they didn't really cause a beat, either. And that was the problem. Maybe it was the oppressive heat inside Saint Andrews Hall-- it hovered like waves of dragonflies wearing fisherman knit sweaters, and plenty of jeans-wearers bailed for the relative coolness of club's front stoop-- but SM and his band didn't really make an impression, despite a capable-enough performance and flashes of Malkmus's disarming sense of humor. At one point he dedicated a song to the Detroit Pistons' Carlos Arroyo, the scrappy reserve guard who would go on to leave Game 2 of the NBA Finals with a leg injury. It was a game Detroit never led. Ultimately, they just couldn't make up the distance.

The show was by no means a total loss. A thin balcony overlooks the Saint Andrews main floor, and one guy up there never stopped grooving. Not once. He was an indie rock gandy dancer, riding the train on a bewildering array of homemade moves as Malkmus and the Jicks (bass, keys/guitars, drums) pushed dutifully through 99% of Face the Truth.

There were some faithful fans by the stage, too, the kind who shouted B-side requests too loudly. (Malkmus ended up tearing into a couple, "Carl the Clod" and "Wow Ass Jeans".) And there were moments set ablaze by an improvisational tweak or delightfully flubbed lyric. But the set was mostly a blur of vague applause and spiny guitar lines. Truth's electronics and overdubs were toned down in favor of two electric guitars and the occasional addition of unobtrusive keyboards. Malkmus spun off numerous cranky, creaky guitar solos himself, his tone warbling in the soaking humidity but mostly cutting through. Some songs ranged a bit too far into jammy improvisation, though it made sense to trance out the crowd in a room hotter than balls. And the entire place perked up when "Jenny and the Ess-Dog" arrived late in the set. The refugee from Malkmus's self-titled solo debut set off an applause meter that until then was flagging. Who knew it was that popular of a single? Then again, a few of the stocky thirtysomethings at the bar could've been Brothers in Arms fans, and the splashy jumble of coeds by the merch might've just pledged Kappa.

The Face the Truth power hour, the non-album tracks, the occasional bone from Pig Lib-- this was the sum of the show's easygoing parts. But their assembly was missing something, like the other side of Malkmus's lopsided grin, and as the crowd filed out there were distant looks on their glistening faces.